


(Let me be) Your Shelter

by sElkieNight60



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Also he gives hugs now, And Jason just can't be bothered finding a new apartmen, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, But also because Tim has had A Time, Family Bonding, Gen, I wrote this fic in 3 hours so pls be kind to my mistakes, Se.N, Sorry for the bad tagging kids, because life is expensive when you're in ya 20s, he just is bad at talking but what is new there, over the fact that everybody wants to move back home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 06:43:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19883332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sElkieNight60/pseuds/sElkieNight60
Summary: “They've taken my badge,” Dick said, tears pooling up once more as he looked up to individually meet every pair of eyes upon him. “I've been suspended.”At first, Jason though he'd heard wrong, because suspended just didn't sound right. Dick? Suspended? Golden Boy? Impossible.





	(Let me be) Your Shelter

Grayson was crying and nobody knew what to do.

Scratch that, Grayson was crying and _Pennyworth_ was the only person who knew what to do.

In the entrance way to the lounge stood Todd, Drake and Father, looking disturbed, perplexed and uncomfortable respectively, as though the entire family had forgotten how to deal with Grayson when he wasn't sunshine, rainbows, unicorns and unnecessary bear hugs. Damian might have found their reactions comical if it weren't for the fact that he too was feeling rather unsettled by the sight of his older brother bawling his eyes out, not even bothering to smother his emotions into a box like he'd been trained to do from an early age.

Pennyworth was the only person who seemed unaffected by the sight, as though he had seen it many times before―although, when Damian thought about it, he probably had. The old butler was rubbing circles on Grayson's back, muttering sympathetic platitudes about how ' _it would all be alright_ ' whilst shooting pointed and more acidulous looks in Bruce's direction until the old man finally managed to take a hint. For once, he couldn't even be mad about it. Damian watched as his father finally managed to unstick his feet from the floor, which prompted the rest of the family to burst into a flurry of action as well.

Todd moved into the lounge, as though he was desperately trying not to look as though he cared too much― _failing_ _miserably_ ―whilst Drake hurried to take up a place on the other side of Pennyworth. Damian himself took up center stage, seating himself solidly on the coffee table, directly in front of his older brother.

The action pulled a tiny quirk from Richard's lips and he whispered a, “Hey, Dami…” through his tears, so Damian counted it as a win.

“You should not waste your tears, Grayson,” he sniffed, in a poor attempt at humour. “Your family―pathetic as the rest of them are―are safe and here.”

Father shot him a particularly critical look but said nothing as Dick chuckled, the sound containing only the barest hint of genuine mirth. “You're right,” his older brother said. “I'm being silly. You're all safe, I suppose that is all that really matters.” And then promptly burst out into another round of tears.

In a rare display of emotion that wasn't spurred by mortal injury or drugs, Damian saw his father pull Grayson into a hug and tuck him under his chin, a huff rustling the raven-dark hair on his head as he pinned the rest of the family with a look of warning that said: _be gentle, or else._

The corner of his eye told him that Todd and Drake were just as surprised by the display.

“So,” Todd began, shuffling out of the shadows and cracking his knuckles in a dramatic display. “Who exactly do I need to beat up?”

Pennyworth admonished him with a glare, but Drake looked like he wanted in on the idea, despite the fact he'd rolled his eyes at the show.

Grayson chuckled, the sound still overly wet to be happy. “No one,” he replied. “It was my fault in the first place.”

There was a moment where Father crushed Grayson to his chest, possibly a little too tightly, but Richard managed to finish despite it.

“They've taken my badge,” he said, tears pooling up once more as he looked up to individually meet every pair of eyes upon him. “I've been suspended.”

~

At first, Jason though he'd heard wrong, because _suspended_ just didn't sound right.

Dick? Suspended? _Golden Boy_ _?_ Impossible.

Jason laughed and Bruce almost leapt for Damian when the young boy's expression quickly turned murderous. Luckily, Alfred moved between the two because Jason knew Damian wouldn't try anything if the butler could be caught in the crossfire.

“You, Goldie?” He sniggered. “What the fuck could _you_ have possibly done?” Tim elbowed him harshly.

Jason watched Bruce pull Dick out from under his chin in time to watch his face morph into a grimace, but the old man didn't let go completely, choosing to keep what he clearly hoped was a comforting hand on Dick's knee.

For a moment there was silence and, in it, Jason slowly realised he'd shoved himself under an unwanted spotlight. Luckily, Dick saved him from wallowing in the bright light for too long, possibly feeling a twang of sympathy for him―because Jason had enough self-awareness to know that he sometimes had the emotional tact of a megaphone in a library.

“I… beat a suspect up.” Dick said simply and with much chagrin as he dropped his gaze.

It was, unexpectedly, Tim who pressed for more. “Why?”

The boy was sitting forward in his seat looking utterly confused as to why Dick― _Dick, of all people_ _―_ would do such a thing. Jason could understand the kid's bewilderment. Himself, sure. Damian absolutely. Even Tim, he suspected, had gone a little too far when roughing up a criminal. But that wasn't Dick's shtick and they all knew it.

Especially when he was working his day job.

Dick didn't look like he was going to answer for a minute, but with all eyes on him, he knew he wasn't escaping the Spanish Inquisition. “He was working for a guy who was trafficking Meta-teens,” he answered, leaning ever-so-slightly into Bruce's side. Bruce tightened his loose arm around his boy minutely in response as Dick continued, “I just needed a full confession.”

“And he wouldn't give you one.” Jason deduced, deadpan.

Dick shook his head. “I… I've been working this case for _five_ months and we've lost _hundreds_ of kids… I might've…” Jason could hear the word coming long before it exited Dick's mouth. “Snapped.”

~

Tim snorted but wasn't surprised, he'd long known his older brother had a penchant for taking things too close to heart. Most of the time it was a good thing, Dick was the single happiest and openly loving member of the family. If anyone ever felt shut out or rejected they could just go to him and Dick would make it all better, telling them they were loved, they were _wanted,_ most especially when Bruce himself couldn't get the words past his own pride.

But in situations like this, his goodness and genuine need to help people made him take on the weight of the world.

“Stressed.” Tim enunciated, folding his arms across his chest and frowning. “You pushed yourself too hard and snapped like a rubber band when it all got too much.”

Next to him, Jason rolled his shoulders and sighed, “You're an idiot.” The declaration was gruff and the man looked very much as though he wanted to flick said idiot between the eyes. “Don't they make you take, I dunno, psych evaluations at the station once a month? Seriously, you moron, when was the last time you took time off?”

Dick at least had the decency to appear abashed when he replied, “Probably not for a good eight months.”

“So you've been at the station every day and out playing Nightwing every night _for eight months?_ ” Jason growled, almost as if he actually cared.

Tim sniffed, “I can't believe you don't drink twenty cups of the coffee every day.”

Dick's face read like an open book. _H_ _ow do you know I don't?_ it said, to which Tim wanted to sigh as much as Jason did.

Damian butted in then with, “Are you moving back home then, Grayson?” The kid tried really hard not to look pleased by the idea, but Tim caught the glint in his eye and the red on his hands.

The man dragged a tired hand over his ragged face and spared an almost cautious glance at Bruce, whose face betrayed nothing and made Dick look even more uncomfortable than before.

“Well, I…” he began and then swallowed with difficulty. “I don't want to impose and… only if it's okay.”

Tim couldn't help but feel annoyed when Bruce took a second too long to answer and Dick's face went from cautious to panicked in the 1000 milliseconds too long it took for the overgrown Bat to make an attempt at replying.

Tim had moved back in lesson than a month ago when his apartment flooded and the whole place had needed to be demolished thanks to a large crack in the foundation. However, Jason had beat him to it, having moved back into his bedroom at Wayne manor over two months ago, when the lease had run out on his apartment. He'd decided Bruce's offer to come live at home―as badly as the old man had worded it―was probably better than staying in abandoned warehouse after abandoned warehouse, because he was too consumed with fighting crime to bother looking for a new flat. Damian, of course, still lived at Wayne manor.

The young boy interjected before Bruce could finally manage to form a single syllable with that big, dumb mouth of his. “Obviously it's okay,” Damian tsked. “I've had to put up with these two oafs for the last two months, it will be good to have someone with half a brain around for a change.”

Jason quirked an eyebrow and lunged for the boy before Alfred could stop him, “Who are you calling an oaf, you little turd!”

Damian was caught quickly and Jason gave the boy a good noogie, which involved a lot of yelling and protesting on the younger's half, but Tim ignored the two idiots play-fighting and watched Dick instead, whose expression softened at the rough-housing.

Tim felt himself agreeing with Damian, the words exiting his mouth without consideration. “Damian's correct,” he said, shifting Dick's attention to himself. “You'd hardly be imposing.”

The man smiled softly back at him, his expression filled with fondness, but Tim knew, from the way his older brother's eyes shifted to Bruce, that it wasn't his younger siblings permission he was seeking.

~

Alfred maintained his composure as the various Robin's of the house attempted to convince their favourite―(though, sadly, none of them would admit it)―sibling to stay, but found it so hard to do when Bruce's face obtained that constipated and pinched look that he knew so well.

Why he was so terrible at conveying his feelings, Alfred would surely never know, but he suppressed the urge to smack the man across the back of the head. It wasn't professional. He sent a prayer up to the heavens as he stood, hoping Bruce would somehow bridge the distance between himself and his oldest son, and shot the rest of them a glance that brooked no room for argument when he said, “Right. Jason, Tim, Damian; you three come with me.” It wasn't subtle, but it wasn't meant to be.

The three boys followed him out of the lounge without protest, all eyeing each other surreptitiously as they marched silently after him. Sometimes he wondered if they were having secret conversations behind his back with their glares alone, but then the thought it was best not to know.

When they made it to their destination―the kitchen, of course―Alfred set about making snacks for the boys, whilst Jason swung up onto the opposing counter and Damian settled with his arms crossed by the door, surveying the scene unfolding with his usual steely scowl.

Tim was the first to vent thoughts, “You think he'll stay, Alfred?” He sounded like he was trying to keep the hope out of his voice, but they all picked up on it.

“I could not say, Master Timothy.”

Jason grumbled something that sounded an awful lot like, “He'd better,” under his breath, but Alfred wisely chose to ignore it as he heard Damian mutter something that sounded an awful lot like agreement.

At least they could all agree on _something_.

“Father is an imbecile if he does not let Grayson stay,” Damian declared matter-of-factly. “Especially since he allowed the two of _you_ to come home.”

Quickly, Alfred swooped in to do some damage control. “Yes, well,” he interrupted before Jason's open mouth could say anything truly regretful. “Your father sometimes chooses the more… difficult path, but rest assured, Master Damian, if it comes down to it I'm sure the three of you will manage to persuade him otherwise.”

Not that Alfred truly thought Bruce _wouldn't_ let Dick stay. It was pretty clear to anyone that knew him that Bruce missed all his children, but for the last two months―ever since Jason had appeared from thin air―he'd moped about the Batcave in his spare time, watching the little cameras he'd installed in both Tim and Dick's apartments. When Tim came home, the moping had whittled down to Dick alone.

When Alfred realised none of the boys looked assured by this, he sighed and tried again, turning to give them all a determined look. He missed Master Richard just as much as they, though he wouldn't freely admit it.

“If it really comes down to it, _I_ will have a talk with Master Bruce.” The boys perked up at that and it brought a smile to the corners of Alfred's mouth. “However,” he finished. “I strongly suspect that I will not have to.”

~

The room fell disturbingly quiet in the wake of the rest of the family's departure, like a concert hall immediately after the final note of a symphony when time was a distant and unreal concept before the weight of that first clap.

Alone with Dick, Bruce noted the way his adult son shuffled right, moving to put some distance between them― _b_ _racing himself_ , he thought sadly, suddenly wondering where the young, cuddling child he had once known had disappeared to. Bruce had comforted him, had he not? Tucked him under his chin and provided a one-armed hug. Had Dick thought it all for show? Was it not proof enough, despite his aversion to physical contact?

The atmosphere of the room changed as the young man wiped away the few remaining tears from his lashes, fortifying himself. The apology was unexpected, though.

“I'm sorry,” Dick grimaced, turning to face his once-guardian but never quite meeting his eyes. “I didn't think you'd mind if I… well, no, it's fine. I made an assumption and that was silly of me. I should have asked first.”

Bruce frowned, quickly trying to catch up on the last few minutes of conversation and replaying it in his mind to discover the source of the apology. Yet, all he could think was: _Dick's coming home._ His heart almost alighted from his chest at the notion, but he realised the lack of reaction too late when Dick looked ready to start panicking again.

“I'll just have to look for a different apartment sooner than I thought,” he began babbling, sparing short glances in Bruce's direction. “The rent on mine is about to go up soon. Without my day job my savings will go fast―and don't go offering to pay my rent,” he said sternly, “because I won't accept charity.”

Bruce blinked to clear his head and then offered, lamely, “What?”

Dick either ignored or didn't hear him, for he pressed on without breath, “Blüdhaven might be slightly cheaper than Gotham, but anywhere within spitting-distance of the station is expensive―oh, and I'll need to hire a moving van, _ah that'll be expensive too…”_

“Dick,” Bruce gripped his son by the shoulders, effectively stopping the rant as the young man met his eyes, startled. He resisted the urge to shake him or crush him to his chest for a second time in favour of clearing up what had clearly become a misunderstanding. “You can stay.”

No, wait. That had come out wrong, too harsh. Bruce cleared his throat and tried again, “Please. Stay. I… I mean, I would like it if you… you should stay. Here. Home.”

Dick smirked at him. “Well,” he said. “When you put it like that, how can I refuse?”

Bruce chuckled at his very first partner, his _son,_ just as three figures strutted, strode and predictably stalked into the room.

 _Eavesdroppers,_ Bruce thought without any actual animosity, just as Damian asked, nonchalant, “He's staying then?”

Dick sent him a beatific smile. Bruce couldn't help himself, he bent forward and brushed a wayward hair from the young man's bangs back into place fondly.

“Yeah. He's staying.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back to give BatHugs and throw sum angst in ya face like confetti. Thanks for reading, dudettes!


End file.
